Men of Mayhem (50 page)

I straighten and fix my shirt in the mirror. I take another paper towel and wipe my face one last time. I step back out into the main office and walk instead of practically running back to my desk. I slip into my desk chair and immediately reach for my purse in my desk drawer. I rummage around for a mint.

“Are you okay?” Mariah is standing behind me.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.” I brush my hand in the air, waving the whole situation off. “Sometimes my stomach acts up.” My voice drops an octave. “Since Jim died. Grief can do a number on your body too. You just never know when it’s gonna show up.” Or so the psychiatrist I saw a few times told me.

“Is there anything I can do? Maybe you should go home.”

“No. It happens. I deal with it.”

“Do you want to cancel tonight?” Mariah is thoroughly concerned.

“No. Absolutely not. Going out is better than staying home,” I tell her matter-of-factly.

“Your phone rang a couple of times.”

“Thanks.”

Mariah slips away, and I pick up my phone, pressing the missed calls button. There are three missed calls with no caller ID. No voicemails either. Oh well, that solves that. I can’t call someone back without a number. I dig into my pile for the claim I’m starting with and get to work.

Alex

I am behind the bar gaping at my cell phone, completely stunned.

“What’s the matter with you?” Carlo is headed straight at me.

“She hung up on me. Mike found her work and her number at her desk. I’m…”

“That fast. He’s good. Maybe you’re not her type,” Carlo jokes, and I don’t find it funny.

“Dude, I couldn’t even get my name out before she hung up on me. I called back three times and she didn’t pick up the phone,” I spew, exasperated.

“Fuck, that’s cold,” Carlo replies. “Did you leave a message?”

“No.” I couldn’t think of what to say when the voicemail prompt sounded and her amazing voice resonated through the phone. “I think I should go to her work,” I venture, wrapping my brain around how to handle this.

“Are you nuts? Does the word
stalker
mean anything to you?” Carlo is shocked that I would even consider doing that. “You need to take a step back and think about this whole thing. You met her and talked to her for a whole two minutes. You sent a cop looking for her. That has crazy written all over it.” Carlo grabs a glass and fills it with Coca-Cola from the tap. “I’ve got some shit for you to do anyway.” He gulps down his soda.

“Great,” I mumble, sticking my phone back in my pocket.

“You need something to get you off this crazy shit.”

I follow Carlo to the elevators, my headspace taken up with thoughts of Meryl, and we ride it down to the basement. He swipes his card and the doors separate and open up to a whole new world that houses all of the security, the break room, and the armament that goes along with the businesses, legal and illegal. A big-screen TV, leather couches, and a mini kitchen fill the entire area—plenty of stuff to keep the guys busy when business is slow.

A bunch of guys from my security team are lounging around watching whatever game they can find on cable at this time of day. Our busy time is after five o’clock.

We cross the room to a metal door with a window. Inside sits Gilly, who’s in charge of all the cameras and surveillance in and outside of the casino, even on the family floors located high above the city of Chicago. La Bella Regale is its own small city within the big city. The size of it takes up an entire block.

“Hey, Gilly.”

“Hey, Alex.” Gilly flicks some switches and brings up the back alley side of the building, the opposite one from where we did the ass-kicking. He zooms in on the brick wall and it is covered with some God-awful graffiti.

“What the fuck?” I slam my fist on the table with all the television screens.

“It’s them. From last night,” Gilly informs me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I knew they were assholes, but I didn’t realize they were juvenile assholes.”

“Send somebody out there to take pictures in case we need to share them with the cops,” Carlo orders. “And that needs to be cleaned up before tonight. I’m expecting a big crowd and a long line.”

“How can anybody be so stupid after we took their licenses and everything?” Gilly asks.

“They were probably too fucked up to even remember we did that,” Carlo responds.

I push through another metal door that leads into a long room with a firing range. And I am plain, old, fucking disgusted that I have to deal with this. But it needs to be taken care of. We don’t want any unnecessary attention or bad publicity for the casino.

Against the wall, stacked high, are guns, bullets, and other accoutrements needed for the businesses. The Glock I typically carry is tucked in the back waistband of my pants under my leather jacket where it always is, whether I’m in a suit assisting Carlo with security or enforcing for the Caruso family. I open some boxes and take out a second one and fill a couple of clips. Better to be safe than sorry.

Carlo comes to the door behind me. “Take Julius with you.”

“Got it.” I don’t even glance at him.

“Eh?” He tries to get my attention. “Keep your head in the game.”

“It’s always in the game, Carlo.” I stare him in the face while I click the fresh clip into the second gun. “You know that.”

But it doesn’t change the fact that having to chase these guys pisses me off. I have a million things I need to do at the casino, and I wanted to try calling Meryl again before her work day ends. But Carlo’s pop, Ennio, wants to make sure these guys don’t come back. This is exactly my job, though, on both sides—the casino and the mafia. I can’t think about Meryl. She is a distraction I can’t afford right now.

“These guys really have balls after that ass-kicking last night,” Julius comments from the passenger seat.

I don’t know who they think they’re dealing with but they’ll never be back after I catch them. Julius and I roll to a stop in a black Suburban a few apartment buildings down from the biggest asshole’s—Josh’s—address.

“He’s probably at work,” Julius offers.

“Punks like him who spray graffiti and act like an ass in a public place don’t have jobs. Either Mommy and Daddy are supporting him or he’s just a lazy fucker. Guaranteed, he is home. Especially after last night.”

Sure enough, I’m right. I pick him out immediately, sitting on the steps of his building laughing it up with his two friends. I know it is them even though it was dark last night because I can see the bruising on their faces, and one of them is nursing his side where he was kicked.

The doors to the Suburban slam and Julius and I cross the street toward them. Apparently, Josh isn’t the stupid one of the three because he starts running. The other two follow.

We chase them down a back alley about two blocks away and my breathing is labored because I’m stoked to catch them. This type of shit gets my adrenaline flowing.

They’ve slowed down. I hear the rustling of a few garbage cans off to my right. I pull the gun out from the back of my jeans and hold it by my side. I use the edge of the building, scaling adjacent to it, inching forward, closer and closer. Julius is flanking me. They have to be tiring easily from the beating and the early morning vandalism.

There is nothing more volatile than the male ego, but when you catch it and beat the shit out of it for a second time, it starts to diminish. And if they fuck with me again, I’m going to beat the shit out of them for a third time and leave them on the front steps of the police station downtown.

It amazes me how stupid they are. I can hear them talking in short whispers. I continue to gradually inch my way closer to them, keeping under the shadow of the building. The premises are so close together that the alley is dark even in the daytime because the light can’t fight against the tall structures.

I’m closing in with each step I take until I sneak up on Josh and hold the cold metal of the pistol in my hand against his temple.

“Found you,” I mock. “We have a problem, and we’re going to resolve it today. If I find you within a three-block radius of La Bella Regale, I will beat the shit out of you for a third time.” I raise the gun and smack it across Josh’s face. Julius has Lou and Barry cornered, his gun trained on them. “If we have a problem a fourth time, there will be no beating because I will be acting not as security for the casino, but as an enforcer for the Caruso family. Which means, by mafia law, no one will find your body.” His eyes go wide and I punch Josh in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. He attempts to mumble through a lack of oxygen the word
shit
. “Nod if you understand what I’m saying.” Josh nods and so do Lou and Barry. “Three strikes and you’re out, permanently. I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them.” I take a few steps over to Lou and Barry, whacking them the same way I did Josh. “Well, I think this has been a very informative meeting, and I just want to reiterate that I do not want to see you within a three-block radius of the casino, or the next steps will be taken.”

“Have a nice day,” Julius snarls sarcastically.

And the two of us walk away from them and back to the black Suburban.

Meryl

I’m ready at seven thirty because I have nothing else to do. I sit on my new couch in my new apartment waiting for a text from Derek letting me know that he and Mariah are downstairs. I have the TV on and I’m watching
Jeopardy
. I never get any of the answers correct. Jim always did, though. My heart lurches in my chest thinking about him. It leaves a repulsive punch in my stomach. So many days go by and each one I think the same thing. It’s not real. He isn’t gone. He’s away, or he’s going to meet me here in Chicago when he’s back from a business trip.

This isn’t good. When I start feeling this way, I need something to distract me and the TV just doesn’t cut it.

I get up and go to the kitchen to pour myself a brandy. I was never a drinker before. It has recently become a very enticing thing. I don’t sip it; I flip the glass upward and take it all in one large gulp. The burn at the back of my throat doesn’t feel the same way it did a month ago. It’s smoother and less gritty. Now, I expect it. My body prepares for it. It isn’t a numbness, but it’s becoming a more natural part of my day, a new normal that I have to inflict on myself because I don’t have a choice. My eyes water, but it’s from the deep loss and not the effect of the stinging alcohol. In the beginning, the crying was uncontrollable, snotty bawling that I couldn’t contain. The lack of being where everything reminds me of him helps the fits that have become fewer and fewer over the past weeks.